Guert stopped to say no more. In a minute he was inside of Herman Mordaunt's house—in another Anneke and Mary Wallace were locked in each other's arms. After exchanging salutes, Mrs. Bogart was conveyed to her own residence, and there was a termination to that memorable expedition.

Guert had less to communicate, in the way of dangers and marvels, than I had anticipated. It seemed, that when he and Miss Wallace reached the inner margin of the last island, a large cake of ice had entered the strait, and got jammed; or rather, that it went through, forced by the tremendous pressure above; though not without losing large masses, as it came in contact with the shores, and grinding much of its material into powder, by the attrition. Guert's presence of mind and decision did him excellent service here. Without delaying an instant, the moment it was in his power, he led Mary on that cake, and crossed the narrow branch of the river, which alone separated him from the main land, on it, dry-shod. The water was beginning to find its way over this cake, as it usually did on all those that lay low, and which even stopped in their progress; but this did not offer any serious obstacles to persons who were so prompt Safe themselves, our friends remained to see if we could not be induced to join them; and the call we heard, was from Guert, who had actually re-crossed to the island, in the hope of meeting us, and directing us to a place of safety. Guert never said anything to me on the subject, himself; but I subsequently gathered from Mary Wallace's accounts, that the young man did not rejoin her without a good deal of hazard and difficulty, and after a long and fruitless search for his companions. Finding it useless to remain any longer on the river-side, Guert and his companion held their way towards Albany. About midnight they reached the ferry, opposite to the town; having walked quite six miles, filled with uneasiness on account of those who had been left behind. Guert was a man of decision, and he wisely determined it would be better to proceed, than to attempt waking up the inmates of any of the houses he passed. The river was now substantially free from ice, though running with great velocity. But, Guert was an expert oarsman; and, finding a skiff, he persuaded Mary Wallace to enter it; actually succeeding, by means of the eddies, in landing her within ten feet of the very spot where the hand-sled had deposited him and myself, only a few days before. From this point, there was no difficulty in walking home; and Miss Wallace actually slept in her own bed, that eventful night if, indeed, she could sleep.

Such was the termination of this adventure; one that I have rightly termed memorable. In the end, Jack and Moses came in safe and sound; having probably swum ashore. They were found in the public road, only a short distance from the town, and were brought in to their master the same day. Every one who took any interest in horses—and what Dutchman does not?—knew Jack and Moses, and there was no difficulty in ascertaining to whom they belonged. What is singular, however, both sleighs were recovered; though at long intervals of time, and under very different circumstances. That of Guert, wolves' skins and all, actually went down the whole length of the river on the ice; passing out to sea through the Narrows. It must have gone by New York in the night, or doubtless it would have been picked up; while the difficulty of reaching it, was its protector on the descent, above the town. Once outside of the Narrows, it was thrown by the tide and winds upon the shore of Staten Island; where it was hauled to land, housed, and, being properly advertised in our New York paper, Guert actually got tidings of it in time to receive it, skins and all, by one of the first sloops that ascended the Hudson that year; which was within a fortnight after the river had opened. The year 1758 was one of great activity, on account of the movements of the army, and no time was then unnecessarily lost.

The history of Herman Mordaunt's sleigh was very different. The poor bays must have drowned soon after we saw them floating past us in the torrent. Of course, life had no sooner left them, than they sank to the bottom of the river, carrying with them the sleigh to which they were still attached. In a few days the animals rose to the surface—as is usual with all swollen bodies—bringing up the sleigh again. In this condition, the wreck was overtaken by a downward bound sloop, the men of which saved the sleigh, harness, skins, foot-stoves, and such other articles as would not float away.

Our adventure made a good deal of noise in the circle of Albany; and I have reason to think that my own conduct was approved by those who heard of it. Bulstrode paid me an especial visit of thanks, the very day of my return, when the following conversation took place between us:—

"You seem fated, my dear Corny," the Major observed, after he had paid the usual compliments, "to be always serving me in the most material way, and I scarcely know how to express all I feel on the occasion. First, the lion, and now this affair of the river—but, that Guert will drown, or make away with the whole family before the summer is over, unless Mr. Mordaunt puts a stop to his interference."

"This accident was one that might have overtaken the oldest and most prudent man in Albany. The river seemed as solid as the street when we went on it; and another hour, even as it was, would have brought us all home, in entire safety."

"Ay, but that hour came near bringing death and desolation into the most charming family in the colony; and you have been the means of averting the heaviest part of the blow. I wish to Heaven, Littlepage, that you would consent to come into the army! Join us as a volunteer, the moment we move, and I will write to Sir Harry to obtain a pair of colours for you. As soon as he hears that we are indebted to your coolness and courage for the life of Miss Mordaunt, he will move heaven and earth, to manifest his gratitude. The instant this good parent made up his mind to accept Miss Mordaunt as a daughter, he began to consider her as a child of his own."

"And Anneke—Miss Mordaunt, herself, Mr. Bulstrode—-does she regard Sir Harry as a father?"

"Why, that must be coming by slow degrees, as a matter of course, you know. Women are slower than us men to admit such totally novel impressions; and I dare say Anneke fancies one father enough for her, just at this moment: though she sends very pleasant messages to Sir Harry, I can assure you, when in the humour! But, what makes you so grave, my good Corny?"

"Mr. Bulstrode, I conceive it no more than fair, to be as honest as yourself in this matter. You have told me that you are a suitor for Miss Mordaunt's hand; I will now own to you that I am your rival."

My companion heard this declaration with a quiet smile, and the most perfect good-nature.

"So you actually wish to become the husband of Anneke Mordaunt, yourself, my dear Corny, do you?" he said, so coolly, that I was at a loss to know of what sort of materials the man could be made.

"I do, Major Bulstrode—it is the first and last wish of my heart."

"Since you seem disposed to reciprocate my confidence you will not take offence if I ask you a question or two!"

"Certainly not, sir; your own frankness shall be a rule for my government."

"Have you ever let Miss Mordaunt know that such are your wishes?"

"I have, sir; and that in the plainest terms—such as cannot well be misunderstood."

"What! last night?—On that infernal ice!—While she thought her life was in your hands!"

"Nothing was said on the subject, last night, for we had other thoughts to occupy our minds."

"It would have been a most ungenerous thing to take advantage of a lady's fears—"

"Major Bulstrode!—I cannot submit—"

"Hush, my dear Corny," interrupted the other, holding out a hand in a most quiet and friendly manner; "there must be no misunderstanding between you and me. Men are never greater simpletons, than when they let the secret consciousness of their love of life push them into swaggering about their honour; when their honour has, in fact, nothing to do with the matter in hand. I shall not quarrel with you; and must beg you, in advance, to receive my apologies for any little indecorum into which I may be betrayed by surprise; as for great pieces of indecorum, I shall endeavour to avoid them."

"Enough has been said, Mr. Bulstrode; I am no wrangler, to quarrel with a shadow; and, I trust, not in the least, that most contemptible of all human beings, a social bully, to be on all occasions menacing the sword or the pistol. Such men usually do nothing, when matters come to a crisis. Even when they fight, they fight bunglingly, and innocently."

"You are right, Littlepage, and I honour your sentiments. I have remarked that the most expert swordsman with his tongue, and the deadest shot at a shingle, are commonly as innocent as lambs of the shedding of blood on the ground. They can sometimes screw themselves up to meet an adversary, but it exceeds their powers to use their weapons properly, when it comes to serious work. The swaggerer is ever a coward at heart, however well he may wear a mask for a time. But enough of this.—We understand each other, and are to remain friends, under all circumstances. May I question further?"

"Ask what you please, Bulstrode—I shall answer, or not, at my own discretion."

"Then, permit me to inquire, if Major Littlepage has authorized you to offer proper settlements?"

"I am authorized to offer nothing.—Nor is it usual for the husband to make settlements on his wife, in these colonies, further than what the law does for her, in favour of her own. The father, sometimes, has a care for the third generation. I should expect Herman Mordaunt to settle his estate on his daughter, and her rightful heirs, let her marry whom she may."

"Ay, that is a very American notion; and one on which Herman Mordaunt, who remembers his extraction, will be little likely to act. Well, Corny, we are rivals, as it would seem; but that is no reason we should not remain friends. We understand each other—though, perhaps, I ought to tell you all."

"I should be glad to know all, Mr. Bulstrode; and can meet my fate, I hope, like a man. Whatever it may cost me, if Anneke prefer another, her happiness will be dearer to me than my own."

"Yes, my dear fellow, we all say and think so at one-and-twenty; which is about your age, I believe. At two-and-twenty, we begin to see that our own happiness has an equal claim on us; and, at three-and-twenty, we even give it the preference. However, I will be just, if I am selfish. I have no reason to believe Anne Mordaunt does prefer me; though my perhaps is not altogether without a meaning, either."

"In which case, I may possibly be permitted to know to what it refers?"

"It refers to the father; and, I can tell you, my fine fellow, that fathers are of some account, in the arrangement of marriages between parties of any standing. Had not Sir Harry authorized my own proposals, where should I have been? Not a farthing of settlement could I have offered, while he remained Sir Harry; notwithstanding I had the prodigious advantage of the entail. I can tell you what it is, Corny; the existing power is always an important power since we all think more of the present time, than of the future. That is the reason so few of us get to Heaven. As for Herman Mordaunt, I deem it no more than fair to tell you, he is on my side, heart and hand. He likes my offers of settlement; he likes my family; he likes my rank, civil and military; and I am not altogether without the hope, that he likes me."

I made no direct answer, and the conversation soon changed. Bulstrode's declaration, however, caused me to remember both the speech and manner of Herman Mordaunt, when he thanked me for saving his daughter's life. I now began to reflect on it; and reflected on it much during the next few months. In the end, the reader will learn the effect it had on my happiness.



CHAPTER XVIII.

"Good Sir, why do you start; and seem to fear Things that do sound so fair? I' the name of truth, Are ye fantastical, or that indeed Which outwardly ye show?"

Banquo.

As I have said already, the adventure on the river made a good deal of noise, in that simple community; and it had the effect to render Guert and myself a sort of heroes, in a small way; bringing me much more into notice, than would otherwise have been the case. I thought that Guert, in particular, would be likely to reap its benefit; for, various elderly persons, who were in the habit of frowning, whenever his name was mentioned, I was given to understand, could now smile; and two or three of the most severe among the Albany moralists, were heard to say that, "after all, there was some good about that Guert Ten Eyck." The reader will not require to be told, that a high-school moralist, in a place as retired and insulated as Albany, must necessarily be a being that became subject to a very severe code. Morality, as I understand the matter, has a good deal of convention about it. There is town-morality and country-morality, all over the world, as they tell me. But, in America, our morals were, and long have been, separated into three great and very distinct classes; viz.—New England, or puritan-morals; middle colonies, or liberal morals; and southern colonies, or latitudinarian morals. I shall not pretend to point out all the shades of difference in these several schools; though that in which I had myself been taught, was necessarily the most in conformity with my own tastes. There were minor shades to be found in the same school; Guert and myself belonging to different classes. His morals were of the Dutch class; while mine more properly belonged to the English. The great characteristic of the Dutch school, was the tendency to excess that prevailed, when indulgences were sought. With them, it did not rain often; but, when it did rain, it was pretty certain to pour. Old Col. Follock was a case in point, on this scare; nor was his son Dirck, young and diffident as he was, altogether an exception to the rule. There was not a more respectable man in the colony, in the main, than Col. Van Valkenburgh. He was well connected; had a handsome unencumbered estate; and money at interest;—was a principal prop, in the church of his neighbourhood; was esteemed as a good husband; a good father; a true friend; a kind neighbour; an excellent, and loyal subject, and a thoroughly honest man. Nevertheless, Col. Van Valkenburgh had his weak times and seasons. He would have a frolic; and the Dominie was obliged to wink at this propensity. Mr. Worden often nicknamed him Col. Frolic. His frolics might be divided into two classes; viz. the moderate and immoderate. Of the first, he had two or three turns a year; and these were the occasions on which he commonly visited Satanstoe or had my father with him at Rockrockarock, as his own place, in Rockland, was called. On these visits, whether to or from, there was a large consumption of tobacco, beer, cider, wine, rum, lemons, sugar, and the other ingredients of punch, toddy and flip; but no outrageously durable excesses. There was much laughing, a great deal of good feeling, many stories, and regular repetitions of old adventures, in the way of traditional narrations; but nothing that could be called decided excesses. It is true, that my grand father, and my father, and the Rev. Mr. Worden, and Col. Follock, were much in the habit of retiring to their beds a little confused in their brains, the consequence of so much tobacco-smoke, as Mr. Worden always maintained; but everything was decent, and in order. The parson, for instance, invariably pulled up on a Friday; and did not take his place in the circle until Monday evening, again; which gave him fully twenty-four hours, to cool off in, before he ascended the pulpit. I will say this, for Mr. Worden, that he was very systematic and methodical in the observance of all his duties; and I have known him, when he happened to be late at dinner, on discovering that my father had omitted to say grace, insist on everybody's laying down their knives and forks, while he asked a blessing; even though it were after the fish was actually eaten. No, no; Mr. Worden was a particular person, about all such things; and it was generally admitted, that he had been the means of causing grace to be introduced into several families, in Westchester; in which it had never been the practice to have it, before his examples and precepts were known to them.

I had not been acquainted with Guert Ten Eyck a fortnight, before I saw he had a tendency to the same sort of excesses as those to which Col. Van Valkenburgh was addicted. There was an old French Huguenot living near Satanstoe—or rather, the son of one, who still spoke his father's language—and who used to call Col. Follock's frolics his "grands couchers" and his "petit couchers;" [27] inasmuch as he usually got to bed at the last, without assistance; while at the first, it was indispensable that some aid should be proffered. It was these "grands couchers" at which my father never assisted. On these occasions, the colonel invariably held his orgies over in Rockland, in the society of men of purely Dutch extraction; there being something exclusive in the enjoyment. I have heard it said that these last frolics sometimes lasted a week, on really important occasions; during the whole of which time the colonel and all near him were as happy as lords. These "grands couchers" however, occurred but rarely—coming round, as it might be, like leap-years, just to regulate the calendar, and adjust the time.

As for my new friend, Guert, he made no manifestation towards a "grand coucher" during the time I remained at Albany—this his attachment to Mary Wallace forbade—but, I discovered by means of hints and allusions, that he had been engaged in one or two such affairs, and that there was still a longing for them in his bones. It was owing to her consciousness of the existence of such weaknesses, and her own strong aversion to anything of the sort, that, I am persuaded, Mary Wallace was alone induced to hesitate about accepting Guert's weekly offer of his hand. The tenderness she evidently felt for him, now shone too obviously in her eyes, to leave any doubt in my mind of Guert's final success; for what woman ever refused long to surrender, when the image of the besieger had taken its place in the citadel of her heart! Even Anneke received Guert with much favour, after his excellent behaviour on the river; and I fancied that everything was going on most flatteringly for my friend, while it seemed to me that I made no advances in my own suit. Such, at least, were my notions on the subject, at the very moment when my new friend, as it appeared, was nearly driven to desperation.

It was near the end of April, or about a month after our perilous adventure on the ice, that Guert came to seek me, one fine spring morning, with something very like despair depicted in his fine, manly face. During the whole of that month, it ought to be premised, I had not dared to speak of love to Anneke. My attentions and visits were incessant and pointed, but my tongue had been silent. The diffidence of real admiration had held me tongue-tied; and I foolishly fancied there would be something like presuming on the services I had so lately rendered, in urging my suit so soon after the occurrence of the events I have described. I had even the romance to think it might be taking an undue advantage of Bulstrode, to wish to press my claims at a moment when the common object of our suit might be supposed to feel the influence of a lively gratitude. These were the notions and sentiments of a very young man, it must be confessed; but I do not know that I ought to feel ashamed of them. At all events, they existed; and they had produced the effect I have mentioned, leaving me to fall, each day, more desperately in love, while I made no sensible advances in preferring my suit. Guert was very much in the same situation, with this difference, however; he made it a point to offer himself, distinctly, each Monday morning, invariably receiving for an answer "no;" if the lady were to be pressed for a definite reply; but leaving some glimmering of hope, should time be given for her to make up her mind. The visit of Guert's, to which I have just alluded, was after one of the customary offers, and usual replies; the offer direct, and the "no," tempered by the doubting and thoughtful brow, the affectionate smile, and the tearful eye.

"Corny," said my friend, throwing down his hat with a most rueful aspect; for, winter having departed, and spring come, we had all laid aside our fur-caps—"Corny, I have just been refused again! That word, 'no,' has got to be so common with Mary Wallace, that I am afraid her tongue will never know how to utter a 'yes!' Do you know, Corny, I have a great mind to consult Mother Doortje!"

"Mother who?—You do not mean Mr. Mayor's cook, surely!"

"No; Mother Doortje. She is said to be the best fortune teller that has ever lived in Albany. But, perhaps, you do not believe in fortune-tellers; some people I know do not?"

"I cannot say that I have much belief, or unbelief, on the subject, never having seen anything of that sort."

"Have they, then, no fortune-teller, no person who has the dark art, in New York?"

"I have heard of such people, but have never had an opportunity of seeing or hearing for myself. If you do go to see this Mother Dorrichy, or whatever you call her, I should like amazingly to be of the party." [28]

Guert was delighted to hear this, and he caught eagerly at the offer. If I would stand his friend he would go at once; but he confessed he did not like to trust himself all alone in the old woman's company.

"I am, perhaps, the only man of my time of life, in Albany, who has not, sooner or later, consulted Mother Doortje;" he added! "I do not know how it is, but, somehow, I have never liked to tempt fortune by going to question her! One never can tell what such a being may say; and should it be evil, why it might make a man very miserable. I am sure I want no more trouble, as it is, than to find Mary Wallace so undetermined about having me!"

"Then you do not mean to go, after all! I am not only ready, but anxious to accompany you."

"You mistake me, Corny. Go I will, now, though she tell me that which will cause me to cut my throat—but, we must not go as we are; we must disguise ourselves, in order that she may not know us. Everybody goes disguised; and then they have an opportunity of learning if she is in a good vein, or not, by seeing if she can tell anything about their business, or habits, in the first place. If she fail in that, I should not care a straw for any of the rest. So, go to work, Corny, and dress yourself for the occasion—borrow some clothes of the people in the house, here, and come round to me, as soon as you please; I shall be ready, for I often go disguised to frolics—yes, unlucky devil that I am, and come back disguised, too!"

Everything was done, as desired. By means of a servant in the tavern, I was soon equipped in a way that satisfied me was very successful; inasmuch as I passed Dirck, in quitting the house, and my old, confidential friend did not recognise me. Guert was in as good luck, as I actually asked himself for himself, when he opened the door for my admission. The laugh, and the handsome face, however, soon let me into the secret, and we sallied forth in high spirits; almost forgetting our misgivings concerning the future, in the fun of passing our acquaintances in the street, without being known.

Guert was much more artistically and knowingly disguised, than I was myself. We both had put on the clothes of labourers; Guert wearing a smock-frock that he happened to own for his fishing occupations in summer—but I had my usual linen in view, and wore all the ordinary minor articles of my daily attire. My friend pointed out some of these defects, as we went along, and an attempt was made to remedy them. Mr. Worden coming in view, I determined to stop him, and speak to him in a disguised voice, in order to ascertain if it were possible to deceive him.

"Your sarvant, Tominie," I said, making an awkward bow, as soon as we got near enough to the parson to address him; "be you ter Tominie, that marries folk on a pinch?"

"Ay, or on a handful, liking the last best.—Why, Corny, thou rogue, what does all this mean?"

It was necessary to let Mr. Worden into the secret; and he no sooner learned the business we were on, than he expressed a wish to be of the party. As there was no declining, we now went to the inn, and gave him time to assume a suitable disguise. As the divine was a rigid observer of the costume of his profession, and was most strictly a man of his cloth, it was a very easy matter for him to make such a change in his exterior, as completely to render him incognito. When all was ready, we went finally forth, on our errand.

"I go with you, Corny, on this foolish business," said the Rev. Mr. Worden, as soon as we were fairly on our way, "to comply with a promise made your excellent mother, not to let you stray into any questionable company, without keeping a fatherly eye over you. Now, I regard a fortune-teller's, as a doubtful sort of society; therefore, I feel it to be a duty, to make one of this party."

I do not know whether the Rev. Mr. Worden succeeded in deceiving himself; but, I very well know, he did not succeed in deceiving me. The fact was, he loved a frolic; and nothing made him happier, than to have an opportunity of joining in just such an adventure as that we were on. Judging from the position of her house, and the appearance of things in and around it, the business of Mother Doortje was not of the most lucrative sort. Dirt and poverty were two things not easily encountered, in Albany; and, I do not say, that we found very positive evidence of either, here; but there was less neatness than was usual in that ultra-tidy community; and, as for any great display of abundance, it was certainly not to be met with.

We were admitted by a young woman, who gave us to understand that Mother Doortje had a couple of customers, already; but she invited us to sit down in an outer room, promising that our turn should be the next. We did so, accordingly, listening, through a door that was a little ajar, with no small degree of curiosity, to what was passing within. I accidentally took a seat in a place that enabled me to see the legs of one of the fortune-teller's customers; and, I thought, immediately, that the striped stockings were familiar to me; when the nasal, and very peculiar intonation of Jason, put the matter out of all doubt. He spoke in an earnest manner; which rendered him a little incautious; while the woman's tones were low and mumbled. Notwithstanding, we all overheard the following discourse—

"Well, now, Mother Dorrichay," said Jason, in a very confiding sort of way, "I've paid you well, for this here business, and I want to know if there is any chance, for a poor man, in this colony, who doesn't want for friends, or, for that matter, merit?"

"That's yourself" mumbled the female voice—in the way one announces a discovery—"Yes, I see, by the cards, that your question applies to yourself. You are a young man, that wants not for friends; and you have merit! You have friends that you deserve; the cards tells me that!"

"Well, I'll not deny the truth of what you assert; and, I must say, Dirck, it is a little strange, this woman, who never saw me before, should know me so well—my very natur', as it might be. But, do you think, I shall do well to follow up the affair I am now on, or that I had best give it up?"

"Give up nothing," answered the oracle, in a very oracular manner, shuffling the cards as she spoke; "no, give up nothing, but keep all you can. That is the way to thrive, in this world."

"By the Hokey, Dirck, she gives good advice, and I think I shall follow it! But how about the land, and the mill-seat—or, rather, how about the particular things I'm thinking about?"

"You are thinking of purchasing—yes, the cards say purchasing; or is it 'disposing—'"

"Why, as I've got none to sell, it can't very well be disposing, Mother."

"Yes, I'm right—this Jack of Clubs settles the matter—you are thinking of buying some land—Ah! there's water running down-hill; and here I see a pond—Why, you are thinking of buying a mill-seat."

"By the Hokey!—Who would have thought this, Dirck!"

"Not a mill; no, there is no mill built; but a mill-seat. Six, king, three and an ace; yes, I see how it is—and you wish to get this mill-seat at much less than its real value. Much less; not less, but much less."

"Well, this is wonderful! I'll never gainsay fortin-tellin' ag'in!" exclaimed Jason. "Dirck, you are to say nothin' of this, or think nothin' of this—as it's all in confidence, you know. Now, jist put in a last word, about the end of life, Mother, and I'll be satisfied. What you have told me about my fortin and earnin's must be true, I think, for my whole heart is in them; but I should like to know, after enjoying so much wealth and happiness as you've foretold, what sort of an end I am to make of it?"

"An excellent end—full of grace, and hope, and Christian faith. I see here, something that looks like a clergyman's gown—white sleeves—book under the arm—"

"That can't be me. Mother, as I'm no lover of forms, but belong to the platform."

"Oh! I see how it is, now; you dislike Church of England people, and could throw dirt at them. Yes, yes—here you are—a presbyterian deacon, and one that can lead in a private meeting, on an occasion."

"Come, Dirck, I'm satisfied—let us go; we have kept Mother Doorichaise long enough, and I heard some visiters come in, just now. Thank you, mother—thank you, with all my heart; I think there must be some truth in this fortin-tellin' after all!"

Jason now arose, and walked out of the house, without even deigning to look at us—and consequently without our being recognised. But Dirck lingered a minute, not yet satisfied with what had been already told him.

"Do you really think I shall never be married, Mother?" he asked, in a tone that sufficiently betrayed the importance he attached to the answer. "I wish to know that particularly, before I go away!"

"Young man," answered the fortune-teller in an oracular manner; "what has been said, has been said! I cannot make fortunes, but only reveal them. You have heard that Dutch blood is in your veins; but you live in an English colony. Your king is her king; while she is your queen—and you are not her master. If you can find a woman of English blood that has a Dutch heart, and has no English suitors, go forward, and you will succeed; but, if you do not, remain as you are until time shall end. These are my words, and these are my thoughts; I can say no more."

I heard Dirck sigh—poor fellow! he was thinking of Anneke—and he passed through the outer room without once raising his eyes from the floor. He left Mother Doortje, as much depressed in spirits, as Jason had left her elated; the one looking forward to the future with a selfish and niggardly hope, while the other regarded it with a feeling as forlorn as the destruction of all his youthful fancies could render any view of his after-life. The reader may feel disposed to smile at the idea of Dirck Van Valkenburgh's possessing youthful fancies—regarding the young man in the quiet, unassuming manner in which he has hitherto been portrayed by me; but it would be doing great injustice to his heart and feelings, to figure him to the mind, as a being without deep sensibilities. I have always supposed that this interview with Mother Doortje had a lasting influence on the fortunes of poor Dirck; nor am I at all certain its effects did not long linger in the temperament of some others that might be named.

As our turns had now come, we were summoned to the presence of this female soothsayer. It is unnecessary to describe the apartment in which we found Mother Doortje. It had nothing unusual in it, with the exception of a raven, that was hopping about the floor, and which appeared to be on the most familiar terms with its mistress. Doortje, herself, was a woman of quite sixty, wrinkled, lean, and hag-like; and, I thought, some care had been taken, in her dress, to increase the effect of this, certainly her natural appearance. Her cap was entirely of black muslin; though her dress itself, was grey. The eye of this woman was of the colour of her gown; and it was penetrating, restless, and deep-seated. Altogether, she looked the character well.

On our entrance, after saluting the fortune-teller, each of us laid a French crown on the table at which she was seated. This coin had become quite current among us, since the French troops had penetrated into our colony; and it was even said they purchased supplies with it, from certain of our own people. As we had paid the highest price ever given, for these glimpses into futurity, we thought ourselves entitled to have the pages of the sealed book freely opened to us.

"Do you wish to see me together; or shall I communicate with one at a time?" demanded Doortje, in her husky, sepulchral voice; which, it struck me, obtained its peculiar tones partly from nature, and partly from art.

It was settled that she should commence with Mr. Worden; but, that all might remain in the room the whole time. While we were talking over this point, Doortje's eyes were by no means fixed, but, I remarked, that they wandered from person to person; like those of one who was gathering information. Many persons do not believe, at all, in the art of the fortune-teller; but insist that there is nothing more in it than trick and management; pretending that this very woman kept the blacks of the town in pay, to bring her information; and that she never told anything of the past, which was true, that had not been previously communicated to herself. I shall not pretend to affirm that the art goes as far as many imagine; but, it strikes me, that it is very presuming, to deny that there is some truth in these matters. I do not wish to appear credulous; though, at the same time, I hold it to be wrong to deny our testimony to facts that we are convinced are true. [29]

Doortje commenced by shuffling an exceedingly dirty pack of cards; which had probably been used five hundred times, on similar duty. She next caused Mr. Worden to cut these cards; when a close and musing examination succeeded. All this time, not a syllable was said; though we were startled by a low whistle, from the woman; which brought the raven upon her shoulder.

"Well, Mother," cried Mr. Worden, with a little impatience, at what he fancied mummery, "I am dying to hear what has happened, that I may put the more faith in what is to happen. Tell me something of the crop of wheat, I put into the ground, last autumn; how many bushels I sowed, and on how many acres; whether on new land, or on old?"

"Ay, ay, you have sowed!—and you have sowed!" answered the woman, on a high key, for her; "but your seed fell among tares, and on the flinty ground; and you'll never reap a soul among 'em all! Broadcast may you sow—but narrow will be your harvest."

The Rev. Mr. Worden gave a loud hem—placed his arms akimbo—and seemed determined to brazen it out; though, I could easily perceive, that he felt excessively awkward.

"How is it, with my cattle? and shall I send much mutton to market, this season?"

"A wolf, in sheep's clothing!" muttered Doortje. "No—no—you like hot suppers, and ducks, and lectures to cooks more than gathering in the harvest of the Lord!"

"Come, this is folly, woman!" exclaimed the parson, angrily. "Give me some common sense, for my good French crown. What do you see, in that knave of diamonds, that you study its face so closely?"

"A loping Dominie!—a loping Dominie!" screamed the hag, several times, rather than exclaiming aloud. "See!—he runs, for life; but Beelzebub will overtake him!"

There was a sudden, and dead pause; for the Rev. Mr. Worden had caught up his hat, and darted from the room; quitting the house, as if already busily engaged in the race alluded to. Guert shook his head, and looked serious; but, perceiving that the woman was already tranquil, and was actually shuffling the cards anew, in his behalf, he advanced to learn his fate. I saw the eyes of Doortje fastened keenly on him, as he took his stand near the table, and the corners of her mouth curled in a significant smile. What that meant, exactly, I have never been able to ascertain.

"I suppose, you wish to know something of the past, like all the rest of them," mumbled the woman, "so that you may have faith in what you hear about the future?"

"Why, Mother," answered Guert, passing his hand through his own fine head of natural curls, and speaking a little hastily, "I do not know that it is any great matter about the past. What is done, is done; and there is an end of it. A young man may not wish to hear of such things, at the moment, perhaps, when he is earnestly bent on doing better. We are all young, once in our lives, and we can grow old only after having been so."

"Yes—yes—I see how it is!" muttered Doortje. "So—so—turkeys—turkeys; ducks—ducks—quaack—quaack—quaack—gobble, gobble, gobble—" Here, the old hag set up such an imitation of ducks, geese, turkeys, game-cocks, and other birds, that one who was in an outer room, might well have imagined he heard the cries of a regular poultry-yard. I was startled, myself, for the imitation was very admirable—but Guert was obliged to wipe the perspiration from his face.

"That will do—that will do, Mother!" the young man exclaimed. "I see, you know all about it; and there is no use in attempting disguises with you. Now, tell me, if I am ever to be a married man, or not. My errand here, is to learn that fact; and I may as well own it, at once."

"The world has many women in it—and fair faces are plenty, in Albany," once more mumbled the woman, examining her cards, with great attention. "A youth, like you, might marry twice, even."

"No, that is impossible; if I do not marry a particular lady, I shall never marry at all."

"Yes—yes—I see how it is!—You are in love, young man."

"D'ye hear that, Corny! Isn't it wonderful, how these creatures can tell? I admit the truth of what you say; but, describe to me the lady that I love."

Guert had forgotten, altogether, that the use of the word lady, completely betrayed the fact of his disguise; since no man, truly of his dress and air, would think of applying such a word to his sweetheart. [30] I could not prevent these little betrayals of himself, however; for, by this time, my companion was too much excited, to hear reason.

"The lady that you love," answered the fortune-teller, deliberately, and with the manner of one that proceeded with great confidence, "is very handsome, in the first place."

"True as the sun in the heavens, Mother!"

"Then, she is virtuous, and amiable, and wise, and witty, and good."

"The Gospel is not more certain! Corny, this surpasses belief!"

"Then, she is young. Yes, she is young, and fair, and good; three things that make her much sought after."

"Why is she so long reflecting on my offers, Mother, tell me that, I beg of you; or, will she ever consent to have me?"

"I see—I see—it is all here, on the cards. The lady cannot make up her mind."

"Listen to that, now, Corny; and do not tell me there is nothing in this art. Why does she not make up her mind? For Heaven's sake, let me know that? A man may tire of offering to marry an angel, and getting no answer. I wish to know the reason of her doubts."

"A woman's mind is not easily read. Some are in haste, while some are not. I am of opinion you wish to get an answer before the lady is ready to give it. Men must learn to wait."

"She really seems to know all about it, Corny! Much as I have heard of this woman, she exceeds it all! Good Mother, can you tell me how I can gain the consent of the woman I love?"

"That is only to be had by asking. Ask once, ask twice, ask thrice."

"By St. Nicholas! I have asked, already, twenty times! If asking would do it, she would have been my wife a month since. What do you think, Corny—no, I'll not do it—it is not manly to get the secrets of a woman's heart, by means like these—I'll not ask her!"

"The crown is paid, and the truth must be said. The lady you love, loves you, and she does not love you; she will have you, and she won't have you; she thinks yes, and she says no."

Guert now trembled all over, like an aspen-leaf.

"I do not believe there is any harm, Corny, in asking whether I gained or lost by the affair of the river? I will ask her that much, of a certainty. Tell me, Mother, am I better or worse, for a certain thing that happened about a month ago—about the time that the ice went, and that we had a great freshet?"

"Guert Ten Eyck, why do you try me thus?" demanded the fortune-teller, solemnly. "I knew your father, and I knew your mother; I knew your ancestors in Holland, and their children in America. Generations on generations have I known your people, and you are the first that I have seen so ill-clad! Do you suppose, boy, that old Doortje's eyes are getting dim, and that she cannot tell her own nation? I saw you on the river—ha! ha! 't was a pleasant sight—Jack and Moses, too; how they snorted, and how they galloped! Crack—crack—that's the ice—there comes the water!—See, that bridge may hit you on the head! Do you take care of this bird, and do you take care of that—and all will come round with the seasons. Answer me one thing, Guert Ten Eyck, and answer me truly. Know you ever a young man who goes quickly into the bush?"

"I do, Mother; this young man, my friend, intends to go in a few days, or as soon as the weather is settled."

"Good! go you with him—absence makes a young woman know her own mind, when asking will gain nothing. Go you with him, I say; and if you hear muskets fired, go near them; fear will sometimes make a young woman speak. You have your answer, and I will tell no more. Come hither, young owner of many half-joes, and touch that card."

"I did as ordered; when the woman began to mumble to herself, and to run over the pack as rapidly as she could. Kings, aces, and knaves were examined, one after another, until she had got the Queen of Hearts in her hand, which she held up to me in triumph.

"That is your lady. She is a queen of too many hearts! The Hudson did that for you, that it has done for many a poor man before you. Yes, yes; the river did you good: but water will drown, as well as make tears. Do you beware of Knights Barrownights!" [31]

Here Mother Doortje came to a dead stand in her communications, and not another syllable of any sort could either of us get from her; though, between us, as many as twenty questions were asked. Signs were made for us to depart; and when the woman found our reluctance, she laid a crown for each of us, on the table, with a dignified air, and went into a corner, seated herself, and began to rock her body, like one impatient of our presence. After so unequivocal a sign that she considered her work as done, we could not well do less than return; leaving the money behind us, as a matter of course.

[Footnote 27: In plain English, the "great go-to-bed," and the "little go-to-bed." There may be a portion of our readers who are not aware that the word "levee," meaning a morning reception by a great man, is derived from the French "lever," which means "to rise," or "to get up." The kings of France were in the habit of receiving homage at their morning toilets; a strange custom, that doubtless had its origin in the empressement of the courtier to inquire how his master had slept; which receptions were divided into two classes, the "grand lever" and the "petit lever"—the "great getting-up" or the "little getting-up." The first was an occasion of more state than the last. Even down to the time of Charles X., the court papers seldom went a week without announcing that the king had signed the contract of marriage—a customary compliment in France, among friends of this of that personage—at the "grand lever," or at the "petit lever;" the first, I believe, but am not certain, being the greater honour of the two.—EDITOR.]

[Footnote 28: Doortje—pronounced Doort-yay—means Dorothea. Mr. Littlepage uses a sort of corruption of the pronunciation. I well remember a fortune-teller of that name, in Albany; though it could not have been the Doortje of 1758.—EDITOR.]

[Footnote 29: It is quite evident, that Mr. Cornelius Littlepage was, to agree at least, a believer in the fortune-teller's art. This was, however, no more than was common, a century since. Quite within my recollection, the Albanians had a celebrated dealer in the black art, who was regularly consulted, on the subject of all lost spoons, and the pilfering of servants, by the good housewives of the town, as recently as my school-boy days. The Dutch, like the Germans, appear to have been prone to this species of superstition; from which, even the English of education were far from being free, a century since. Mademoiselle Normand existed in the present century, even, in the sceptical capital of France. But, the somnambulist is taking the place of the ancient soothsayer, in our own times.—EDITOR.]

[Footnote 30: This might have been true, in 1758; but is not true for 1845.—EDITOR.]

[Footnote 31: In the colony of New York, there lived but one titled man, for a considerable period. It was the celebrated Sir William Johnson, Bart., of Johnson Hall, Johnstown, Albany, now Fulton County. The son of Sir William Johnson was knighted during his father's life-time, and was Sir John while Sir William was living. At the death of his father, he was Sir John Johnson, Kt. & Bart.; and it was usual for the common class of people to style him a Knight, of Barrownight.—EDITOR.]



CHAPTER XIX.

Virtue, how frail it is! Friendship, too rare! Love, how it sells poor bliss For proud despair! But we, though soon they fall, Survive their joy, and all Which ours we call.

SHELLEY.

Guert Ten Eyck was profoundly impressed with what he had heard, in his visit to the fortune-teller. It affected his spirits, and, as will be seen, it influenced all his subsequent conduct. As for myself, I will not say that I totally disregarded what had passed; though the effect was greatly less on me, than it was on my friend. The Rev. Mr. Worden, however, treated the matter with great disdain. He declared that he had never before been so insulted in his life. The old hag, no doubt, had seen us all before, and recognised him. Profiting by a knowledge of this sort—that was very easily obtained in a place of the size of Albany—she had taken the occasion to make the most of the low gossip that had been circulated at his expense. "Loping Dominie, indeed," he added; "as if any man would not run to save his life! You saw how it was with the river, Corny, when it once began to break up, and know that my escape was marvellous. I deserve as much credit for that retreat, boy, as Xenophon did for his retreat with the Ten Thousand. It is true, I had not thirty-four thousand, six hundred and fifty stadia to retreat over; but acts are to be estimated more by quality, than by quantity. The best things are always of an impromptu character; and, generally, they are on a small scale. Then, as for all you tell me about Guert; why, the hussy knew him—must have known him, in a town like Albany, where the fellow has a character that identifies him with all sorts of fun and roguery. Jack, and Moses, too! Do you think the inspiration of even an evil spirit, or of forty thousand devils, would lead a fortune-teller to name any horse Moses? Jack might do, perhaps; but Moses would never enter the head of even an imp! Remember, lad, Moses was the great law-giver of the Jews; and such a creature would be as apt to suppose a horse was named Confucius, as to suppose he was named Moses!"

"I suppose the inspiration, as you call it, sir, would lead a clever fortune-teller to give things as they are; and to call the horses by their real names, let them be what they might."

"Ay, such inspiration as this miserable, old, wrinkled, impudent she-devil enjoys! Don't tell me, Corny; there is no such thing as fortune-telling; at least, nothing that can be depended on in all cases—and this is one of downright imposition. 'Loping Dominie,' forsooth!"

Such were the Rev. Mr. Worden's sentiments on the subject of Mother Doortje's revelations. He exacted a pledge from us all, to say nothing about the matter; nor were we much disposed to be communicative on the subject. As for Guert, Dirck, Jason, and myself, we did not hesitate to converse on the circumstances of our visits, among ourselves, however; and each and all of us viewed the matter some what differently from our Mentor. I ascertained that Jason had been highly gratified with what had been predicted on his own behalf; for what was wealth in his eyes had been foretold as his future lot; and a man rarely quarrels with good fortune, whether in prospective, or in possession. Dirck, though barely twenty, began to talk of living a single life from this time; and no laughter of mine could induce the poor lad to change his views, or to entertain livelier hopes. Guert was deeply impressed, as has been said; and feeling no restraint in the matter of his own case, he took occasion to speak of his visit to the woman, one morning that Herman Mordaunt, the two ladies, Bulstrode, and myself, were sitting together, chatting, in the freedom of what had now become a very constant intercourse.

"Are such things as fortune-tellers known in England, Mr. Bulstrode?" Guert abruptly commenced, fastening his eyes on Mary Wallace, as he asked the question; for on her were his thoughts running at the time.

"All sorts of silly things are to be found in Old England, Mr. Ten Eyck, as well as some that are wise. I believe London has one or two soothsayers; and I think I have heard elderly people say that the fashion of consulting them has somewhat increased, since the court has been so German."

"Yes," Guert innocently replied; "I find it easy to believe that; for, it is a common saying, among our people, that the German and Low Dutch fortune-tellers are the best known. They have had, or pretend to have had, witches in New England; but no one, hereabouts, puts any faith in the pretence. It is like all the bragging of these boastful Yankees!"

I observed that Mary Wallace's colour deepened; and that, in biting off a thread, she profited, by the occasion, to avert her face in such a manner, that Bulstrode, in particular, could not see it.

"The meaning of all this," put in Major Bulstrode "is, that our friend Guert has been to pay a visit to Mother Doortje's; a woman of some note, who lives on the hill, and who has a reputation, in that way, among these good Albanians! Several of our mess have been to see the old woman."

"It is, Mr. Bulstrode," Guert answered, in his manly way, and with a gravity which proved how much he was in earnest. "I have been to see Mother Doortje, for the first time in my life; and Corny Littlepage, here, was my companion. Long as I have known the woman by reputation, I have never had any curiosity to pay her a visit, until this spring. We have been, however; and, I must say, I have been greatly surprised at the extent of the knowledge of this very extraordinary person."

"Did she tell you to look into the sweetmeat-pot, for the lost spoon, Mr. Ten Eyck," Anneke inquired, with an archness of eye and voice, that sent the blood to my own face, in confusion. "They say, that fortune-tellers send all prudent, yet careless housewives, to the sweetmeat-pots, to look for the lost spoons! Many have been found, I hear, by this wonderful prescience."

"Well, Miss Anneke, I see, you have no faith," answered Guert, fidgeting; "and people who have no faith, never believe. Notwithstanding, I put so much confidence in what Doortje has told me, that I intend to follow her advice let matters turn out as they may."

Here Mary Wallace raised her thoughtful, full, blue eyes to the face of the young man; and they expressed an intense interest, rather than any light curiosity, that even her woman's instinct and woman's sensitiveness could not so far prevail, as to enable her to conceal. Still, Mary Wallace did not speak, leaving the others present to maintain the discourse.

"Of course, you mean to tell us all about it, Ten Eyck," cried the Major; "there is nothing more likely to succeed, with an audience, than a good history of witchcraft, or something so very marvellous, as to do violence to common sense, before we give it our faith."

"Excuse me, Mr. Bulstrode; these are things I cannot well mention; though, Corny Littlepage will testify, that they are very wonderful. At any rate, I shall go into the bush, this spring; and Littlepage and Follock, being excellent companions, I propose to join their company. It will be late, before the army will be ready to move; and, by that time, all three of us propose to join you before Ticonderoga; if, indeed, you succeed in getting so far."

"Say, rather, in front of Montreal; for, I trust, this new Commander-In-Chief will find something more for us to do, than the last one did. Shall I have a sentinel placed at Doortje's door, in your absence, Guert!"

The smile, this question produced, was general; Guert, himself, joining in it; for his good-nature was of proof. When I say the smile was general, however, I ought to except Mary Wallace, who smiled little, that morning.

"We shall be neighbours, then," Herman Mordaunt quietly observed; "that is to say, if you mean, by accompanying Corny and Dirck to the bush, you intend to go with them to the patent, lately obtained by Messrs. Littlepage and Van Valkenburgh. I have an estate, in that quarter, which is now ten years old; and these ladies have consented to accompany me thither, as soon as the weather is a little more settled, and I can be assured that our army will be of sufficient force to protect us from the French and Indians."

It is unnecessary for me to say with what delight Guert and I heard this announcement! On Bulstrode, however, it produced an exactly contrary effect. He did not appear, to me, to be surprised, at a declaration that was so new to us; but several expressions fell from him, that showed he had no idea the two estates, that of Herman Mordaunt's, and that which belonged to us, lay so near together. It was by means of his questions, indeed, that I learned the real facts of the case. It appeared that Herman Mordaunt's business, in Albany, was to make some provisions in behalf of this property, on which he had caused mills to be erected, and some of the other improvements of a new settlement, to be made, two or three years before; and which, by the progress and events of the war, was getting to be in closer proximity to the enemy, than was desirable. Even where the French lay, at Ticonderoga, his mills, in particular, might be thought in some danger, though forty or more miles distant; for parties of savages, led on by white men, frequently marched that distance through the forests, in order to break up a settlement and to commit depredations. But the enemy had crossed Lake George, the previous summer, and had actually taken Fort William Henry, at its southern extremity, by siege. It is true, this was the extent of their inroad; and, it was now known, that they had abandoned this bold conquest, and had fallen back upon Ty and Crown Point, two of the strongest military positions in the British colonies. Still, Ravensnest, as Herman Mordaunt's property was called, was far from being beyond the limits of sorties; and the residence, at Albany, was solely to watch the progress of events in that quarter, and to be near the scene. If he had any public employment, it remained a profound mystery. A new source of embarrassment had arisen, however; and this it was that decided the proprietor to visit his lands in person. The fifteen or twenty families he had succeeded in establishing on the estate, at much cost and trouble, had taken the alarm at the prospect of a campaign in their vicinity; and had announced an intention of abandoning their huts and clearings, as the course most expedient for the times. Two or three had already gone off towards the Hampshire Grants, whence they had originally come; profiting by the last of the snow; and, it was feared, that others might imitate their caution.

Herman Mordaunt saw no necessity for this abandonment of advantages over the wilderness, that had been obtained at so much cost and trouble. The labour of a removal, and a return, was sufficient, of itself, to give a new direction to the movements of his settlers; and, as their first entrance into the country had been effected through his agency, and aided by his means, he naturally wished to keep the people he had got to his estate with so much difficulty, and at so much cost, at their several positions, as long, at least, as he conceived it to be prudent. In these circumstances, therefore, he had determined to visit Ravensnest in person, and to pass a part, if not most of the summer, among his people. This would give them confidence, and would enable him to infuse new life into their operations. It would seem, that Anneke and Mary Wallace had refused to let Mr. Mordaunt go alone; and, believing, himself, there was no danger in the course he was about to take, the father and guardian, for Mary Wallace was Herman Mordaunt's ward, had yielded to the importunities of the two girls; and it had been formally decided that they were all to proceed together, as soon as the season should get to be a little more advanced. Intelligence of this intention had been sent to the settlers; and its effect was to induce them to remain at their posts, by pacifying their fears.

I might as well add, here, what I learned subsequently, in the due course of events. Bulstrode had been made acquainted with Herman Mordaunt's plans, they being sworn friends, and the latter warmly in the interest of the former's suit; and he had known how to profit by the information. It was now time to put the troops in motion; and several parties had already marched towards the north, taking post at different points that it was thought desirable to occupy, previously to the commencement of the campaign. Among other corps under orders of this nature, was that commanded by Bulstrode; and he had sufficient interest, at head-quarters, to get it sent to the point nearest to Ravensnest; where it gave him the double advantage, of having it in his power to visit the ladies, on occasion, while, at the same time, he must appear, to them, somewhat in the character of a protector. The object of Dirck and myself, in visiting the north, was no secret; and, it was generally understood, that we were to go to Mooseridge; but we did not know, ourselves, that Herman Mordaunt had an estate so near us. This intelligence, as has been said, I now ascertained, was as new to Bulstrode as it was to myself.

The knowledge of many little things I have just mentioned, was obtained by me only at intervals, and by means of observation and discourse. Nevertheless, the main points were determined on the morning on which Guert referred to his visit to the fortune-teller, and in the manner named. The conversation lasted an hour; nor did it cease, until all present got a general idea of the course intended to be pursued by the different parties present, during the succeeding summer.

It happened, that morning, that Bulstrode, Dirck, and Guert withdrew together, the two last to look at a horse the former had just purchased, leaving me alone with the young ladies. No sooner was the door closed on the retiring members of our party, than I saw a smile struggling about the handsome mouth of Anneke; Mary Wallace continuing the whole time thoughtful, if not sad.

"And you were of the party at the fortune-teller's, too, it seems, Mr. Littlepage," Anneke remarked, after appearing to be debating with herself on the propriety of proceeding any farther in the subject. "I knew there was such a person in Albany, and that thrifty housekeepers did sometimes consult her; but I was ignorant that men, and educated men, paid her that honour."

"I believe there is no exception in the way of sex or learning, to her influence, or her authority. They tell me that most of the younger officers of the army visit her, while they remain here."

"I would much like to know if Mr. Bulstrode has been of the number! He is young enough in years, though so high in rank. A major may have as much curiosity as an ensign; or, as it may appear, dear Mary, of a woman who has lost her grandmother's favourite dessert-spoon."

Mary Wallace gave a gentle sigh, and she even raised her eyes from her work; still, she made no answer.

"You are severe on us, Anneke;" for, since the affair on the river, the whole family treated me with the familiarity of a son or a brother—"I fancy we have done no more than Mr. Mordaunt has done in his day."

"This may be very true, Corny, and not make the consultation the wisest thing in nature. I hope, however, you do not keep your fortune a secret, but let your friends share in your knowledge!"

"To me the woman was far from being communicative, though she treated Guert Ten Eyck better. Certainly, she told him many extraordinary things, of the past even; unless indeed, she knew who he was."

"Is it probable, Mr. Littlepage," said Mary Wallace, "that any person in Albany should not know Guert Ten Eyck, and a good deal of his past history? Poor Guert makes himself known wherever he is!"

"And, often much to his advantage," I added—a remark that cost me nothing; but which caused Mary Wallace's face to brighten, and even brought a faint smile to her lips. "All that is true; yet there was something wild and unnatural in the woman's manner, as she told these things!"

"All of which you seem determined to keep to yourself?" observed Anneke, as one asks a question.

"It would hardly do to betray a friend's secrets. Let Guert answer for himself; he is as frank as broad day, and will not hesitate about letting you know all."

"I wish Corny Littlepage were only as frank as twilight!"

"I have nothing to conceal—and least of all from you, Anneke. The fortune-teller told me that the queen of my heart was the queen of too many hearts; that the river had done me no harm; and that I must particularly beware of what she called Knights-Barrownights."

I watched Anneke closely, as I repeated this warning of Mother Doortje; but could not read the expression of her sweet and thoughtful countenance. She neither smiled nor frowned; but she certainly blushed. Of course, she did not look at me—for that would have been to challenge observation. Mary Wallace, however, did smile, and she did look at me.

"You believe all the wizzard told you, Corny?" said Anneke, after a short pause.

"I believed that the queen of my heart was the queen of many hearts; that the river had done me no harm—though I could not say, or see, that it had done me much good; and that I had much to fear from Knights-Barrownights. I believed all this, however, before I ever saw the fortune-teller."

The next remark that was made came from Anneke, and it referred to the weather. The season was opening finely, and fast; and it could not be long before the great movements of the year must commence. Several regiments had arrived in the colonies, and various officers of note and rank had accompanied them. Among others who had thus crossed the Atlantic for the first time, was my Lord Howe, a young soldier of whom fame spoke favourably, and from whom much was expected in the course of the anticipated service of the year. While we were talking over these things, Herman Mordaunt re-entered the room, after a short absence, and he took me with him to examine his preparations for transporting the ladies to Ravensnest. As we went along, the discourse was maintained, and I learned many things from my older and intelligent companion, that were new to me.

"New lords, new laws, they say, Corny," continued Herman Mordaunt; "and this Mr. Pitt, the great commoner, as some persons call him, is bent on making the British empire feel the truth of the axiom. Everything is alive in the colonies, and the sluggish period of Lord Loudon's command is passed. Gen. Abercrombie, an officer from whom much is expected, is now at the head of the King's troops, and there is every prospect of an active and most important campaign. The disgraces of the few last years must be wiped out, and the English name be made once more to be dreaded on this continent. The Lord Howe of whom Anneke spoke, is said to be a young man of merit, and to possess the blood of our Hanoverian monarchs; his mother being a half-sister, in the natural way, of his present Majesty."

Herman Mordaunt then spoke more fully of his own plans for the summer—expressed his happiness at knowing that Dirck and myself were to be what he called his neighbours—though, on a more exact computation, it was ascertained, that the nearest boundaries of the two patents, that of Ravensnest, and that of Mooseridge, lay quite fourteen miles apart, with a dense and virgin forest between them. Nevertheless, this would be making us neighbours, in a certain sense; as gentlemen always call men of their own class neighbours, when they live within visiting distance, or near enough to be seen once or twice in a year. And such men are neighbours, in the sense that is most essential to the term—they know each other better; understand each other better; sympathize more freely; have more of the intercourse that makes us judges of motives, principles, and character, twenty-fold, than he who lives at the gate, and merely sees the owner of the grounds pass in and out, on his daily avocations. There is, and can be no greater absurdity, than to imagine that the sheer neighbourhood, or proximity of position, makes men acquainted. That was one of Jason Newcome's Connecticut notions. Having been educated in a state of society in which all associated on a certain footing of intimacy, and in which half the difficulties that occurred were "told to the church," he was for ever fancying he knew all the gentry of Westchester, because he had lived a year or two in the county; when, in fact, he had never spoken to one in a dozen of them. I never could drive this notion out of his head, however; for looking often at a man, or occasionally exchanging a bow with him on the highway, he would insist was knowing him, or what he called, being "well acquainted;" a very favourite expression of the Danbury man's; though their sympathies, habits, opinions, and feelings, created so vast a void between the parties, they hardly understood each other's terms, and ordinary language, when they did begin to converse, as sometimes happened. Notwithstanding all this, Jason insisted to the last that he knew every gentleman in the county, whom he had been accustomed to hear alluded to in discourse, and when he had seen them once or twice, though it were only at church. But Jason had a very flattering notion, generally, of his own acquisitions on all subjects.

Herman Mordaunt had made careful provision for the contemplated journey; having caused a covered vehicle to be constructed, that could transport not only himself and the ladies, but many articles of furniture that would be required during their residence in the forest. Another conveyance, strong, spacious, and covered, was also prepared for the blacks, and another portion of the effects. He pointed out all these arrangements to me with great satisfaction, dwelling on the affection and spirit of the girls with a pleasure he did not affect to conceal. For my own part, I have always been of opinion, that Anneke was solely influenced by pure, natural regard, in forming her indiscreet resolution; while her father was governed by the secret expectation that the movement would leave open the means of receiving visits and communications from Bulstrode, during most of the summer. I commended the arrangements, made one or two suggestions of my own in behalf of Anneke and Mary, and we returned to our several homes.

A day or two after this visit to the workshops, and the conversation related, the ——th took up its line of march for the north. The troops defiled through the narrow streets in the neighbourhood of the barracks, half an hour after the appearance of the sun, preceded and followed by a long train of baggage-wagons. They marched without tents, however, it being well understood that they were going into a region where the axe could at any time cover thousands of men, in about the time that a camp could be laid out, and the canvass spread. Hutting was the usual mode of placing an army under cover in the forest; and a dozen marches would take the battalion to the point where it was intended it should remain, as a support to two or three other corps still further in advance, and to keep open the communications.

Bulstrode, however, did not quit Albany in company with his regiment. I had been invited, with Guert and Dirck, to breakfast at Herman Mordaunt's that morning; and, as we approached the door, I saw the Major's groom walking his own and his master's horse, in the street, near by. This was a sign we were to have the pleasure of Bulstrode's company at breakfast. Accordingly, on entering the room, we found him present, in the uniform of an officer of his rank, about to commence a march in the forests of America. I thought him melancholy, as if sad at parting; but my most jealous observation could detect no sign of similar feeling on the part of Anneke. She was not quite as gay as usual, but she was far from being sad.

"I leave you, ladies, with the deepest regret," said Bulstrode, while at table, "for you have made this country more than a home to me—you have rendered it dear."

This was said with feeling; more than I had ever seen Bulstrode manifest before, and more than I had given him credit for possessing. Anneke coloured a little; but there was no tremor in the beautiful hand, that held a highly-wrought little tea-pot suspended over a cup, at that very moment.

"We shall soon meet again, Harry," Herman Mordaunt remarked, in a tone of strong affection; "for, our party will not be a week behind you. Remember, we are to be good neighbours, as well as neighbours; and, if the mountain will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet must go to the mountain."

"Which means, Mr. Bulstrode," said Mary Wallace, with one of her sweet smiles, and one that was as open and natural as childhood itself, "that you are Mahomet, and we are the mountain. Ladies can neither travel, with comfort, in a wilderness, nor visit a camp, with propriety, if they would."

"They tell me, I shall not be in a camp at all," answered the soldier; "but in good, comfortable log-barracks, that have been built for us by the battalion we relieve. I am not without hopes, they will be such as even ladies will not disdain to use, on an emergency. There ought to be no Mahomet, and no mountain, between such old and intimate friends."

The conversation then turned on the plans and expectations of the respective parties; and the usual promises were made, of being sociable and good neighbours, as had just been suggested. Herman Mordaunt evidently wished to consider Bulstrode as one of his family; a feeling that might excuse itself to the world, on the score of consanguinity; but which, it was easy enough, for me, to see, had its origin in a very different cause. When Bulstrode rose to take his leave, I wished myself away, on account of the exhibition of concern it produced; while the desire to watch the effect on Anneke, would have kept me rooted to the floor, even had it been proper that I should retire.

Bulstrode was more affected than I could have thought possible. He took one of Herman Mordaunt's hands into his own, and pressed it warmly, for some little time, before he could speak at all.

"God only knows what this summer is to see, and whether we are ever to meet again, or not," he then said, "but, come what may, the past, the happy past, is so much gained from the commonplace. If you never hear of me again, my dear kinsman, my letters to England will give you a better account of my gratitude, than anything I can say in words. They have been written as your kindnesses have been bestowed; and they faithfully pourtray the feelings to which your hospitality and friendship have given rise. In a possible event, I have requested that every one of them may be sent to America, for your special perusal—"

"Nay, my dear Harry, this is foreboding the very worst," interrupted Herman Mordaunt, dashing a tear from his eye, "and is making a very short separation, a more serious matter than one ought—"

"Nay, sir, a soldier, who is about to be posted within striking distance of his enemy, can never speak, with confidence, of separations that are to be short. This campaign will be decisive, for me,"—glancing towards Anneke—"I must return a conqueror, in one sense, or I do not wish to return at all. But, God bless you, Herman Mordaunt, as your own countrymen call you; a thousand years could not efface from my heart, the remembrance of all your kindness."

This was handsomely expressed; and the manner in which it was uttered, was as good as the language. Bulstrode hesitated a moment—looked at the two girls in doubt—and first approached Mary Wallace.

"Adieu, excellent Mary Wallace," he said, taking her offered hand, and kissing it with a freedom from emotion, that denoted it was only friendship and respect which induced the act—"I believe, you are a severe critic on Catos and Scrubs; but, I forgive all your particular backbitings, on account of your general indulgence and probity. You may meet with a thousand mere acquaintances, before you find another who shall have the same profound respect for your many virtues, as myself."

This was handsomely said, too; and it caused Mary Wallace to remove the handkerchief from her eyes, and to utter her adieus cordially, and with some emotion. Strangers say that our women want feeling—passion; or, if they have it, that it is veiled behind a mask of coldness, that takes away from its loveliness and warmth; that they are girlish and familiar, where they might better be reserved; and distant, and unnatural, where feeling and nature ought to assert their sway. That they have less manner, in all respects, in that of self-control, and perhaps of self-respect, in their ordinary intercourse, and in that of acting, where it may seem necessary so to do, I believe to be true; buts he who denies an American girl a heart, knows nothing about her. She is all heart; and the apparent coldness is oftener the consequence of not daring to trust her feelings, and her general dislike to everything artificial, than to any want of affections. Two girls, educated, however, as had been Anneke and Mary Wallace, could not but acquit themselves better, in such a scene, than those who had been less accustomed to the usages of polite life, which are always more or less, the usages of convention.

On the present occasion, Mary Wallace was strongly affected; it would not have been possible, for one of her gentle nature and warm affections, to be otherwise, when an agreeable companion, one she had now known intimately near two years, was about to take his leave of her, on an errand that he himself either thought, or affected so well to seem to think, might lead to the most melancholy issue. She shook hands with Bulstrode, warmly; wished him good fortune, and various other pleasant things; thanked him for his good opinion, and expressed her hope, as well as her belief, that they should all meet again before the summer was over, and again be happy in each other's society.

Anneke's turn came next. Her handkerchief was at her eyes; and, when it was removed, the face was pale, and the cheeks were covered with tears. The smile that followed, was sweetness itself; and, I will own, it caused me a most severe pang. To my surprise, Bulstrode said nothing. He took Anneke's hand, pressed it to his heart, kissed it, left a note in it, bowed, and moved away. I felt ashamed to watch the countenance of Miss Mordaunt, under such circumstances, and turned aside, that observation might not increase the distress and embarrassment she evidently felt. I saw enough, notwithstanding, to render me more uncertain than ever, as to the success of my own suit. Anneke's colour had come and gone, as Bulstrode stood near her, acting his dumb-show of leave-taking; and, to me, she seemed far more affected than Mary Wallace had been. Nevertheless, her feelings were always keener and more active than those of her friend; and, that which my sensitiveness took for the emotion of tenderness, might be nothing more than ordinary womanly feeling and friendship. Besides, Bulstrode was actually her relative.

We men all attended Bulstrode to his horse. He shook us cordially by the hand; and, after he had got into the saddle, he said—"This summer will be warmer than is usual, even in your warmy-cold climate. My letters from home give me reason to think that there is, at last, a man of talents at the head of affairs; and the British empire is likely to feel the impulse he will give it, at its most remote extremities. I shall expect you three young men to join the ——th, as volunteers, as soon as you hear of our moving in advance. I wish I had a thousand like you; for that affair of the river tells where a man will be found when the time comes. God bless you, Corny!" leaning forward in his saddle, to give me another shake of the hand; "we must remain friends, coute qui coute."

There was no withstanding this frankness, and so much good-temper. We shook hands most cordially; Bulstrode raised his hat and bowed; after which he rode away, as I fancied, at a slow, thoughtful, reluctant pace. Notwithstanding the kindness of this parting, I had more cause than ever to regret Bulstrode had appeared among us; and the scenes of that morning only confirmed me in a resolution, previously adopted, not to urge Anneke to any decision, in my case, at a moment when I felt there might be so much danger it would he adverse.



CHAPTER XX.

"Come, let a proper text be read, An' touch it aff wi' vigour, How graceless Ham leugh at his dad, Which made Canaan a nigger."

BURNS.

Ten days after the departure of the ——th, Herman Mordaunt and his family, with our own party, left Albany, on the summer's business. In that interval, however, great changes had taken place in the military aspect of things. Several regiments of King's troops ascended the Hudson, most of the sloops on the river, of which there could not have been fewer than thirty or forty, having been employed in transporting them and their stores. Two or three corps came across the country, from the eastern colonies, while several provincial regiments appeared; everything tending to a concentration at this point, the head of navigation on the Hudson. Among other men of mark, who accompanied the troops, was Lord Viscount Howe, the nobleman of whom Herman Mordaunt had spoken. He bore the local rank of Brigadier, [32] and seemed to be the very soul of the army. It was not his personal consideration alone, that placed him so high in the estimation of the public and of the troops, but his professional reputation, and professional services. There were many young men of rank in the army present; and, as for younger sons of peers, there were enough to make honourables almost as plenty, at Albany, as they were at Boston. Most of the colonial families of mark had sons in the service, too; those of the middle and southern colonies bearing commissions in regular regiments, while the provincial troops from the eastern were led, as was very usual, in that quarter of the country, by men of the class of yeomen, in a great degree; the habits of equality that prevailed in those provinces making few distinctions, on the score of birth or fortune.

Yet it was said, I remember, that obedience was as marked, among the provincials from Massachusetts and Connecticut, as among those that came from farther south; the men deferring to authority, as the agent of the laws. They were fine troops, too; better than our own colony regiments, I must acknowledge; seeming to belong to a higher class of labourers; while, it must be admitted, that most of their officers were no very brilliant representatives of manners, acquirements, or habits, that would be likely to qualify them for command. It must have been that the officers and men suited each other; for, it was said all round, that they stood well, and fought very bravely, whenever they were particularly well led, as did not always happen to be the case. As a body of mere physical men, they were universally allowed to be the finest corps in the army, regulars and all included.

I saw Lord Howe two or three times, particularly at the residence of Madam Schuyler, the lady I have already had occasion to mention, and to whom I had given the letter of introduction procured by my mother, the Mordaunts visiting her with great assiduity, and frequently taking me with them. As for Lord Howe, himself, he almost lived under the roof of excellent Madam Schuyler; where, indeed, all the good company assembled at Albany, was, at times, to be seen.